


Midnight in the Hanging Tree

by Kickstand75



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5345759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kickstand75/pseuds/Kickstand75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Capitol has been destroyed, a new government now in place, and Gale Hawthorne has settled into a new life. But at what cost? He must learn to reconcile regrets from his past if he ever hopes to move on completely. As he examines his choices, a new mystery emerges that threatens to destroy their hard won peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to my beta, firedew, who constantly reins in my ECUS (Excessive Comma Use Syndrome). 
> 
> First three chapters are written and edited, and after that updates will come more slowly as I find time to write.

**Chapter One**

 

I wake up to the bright sun shining in my eyes. The covers on my small bed are twisted and rumpled again, my body drenched with sweat. Though it's summertime here in District 2, the weather is never really warm. I think that maybe I've had more nightmares. They've been coming every night and despite the large amounts of whiskey that are now readily available to me, I've not found it any easier to drift to sleep, nor stay sleeping.

It's almost always the same nightmare. When I wake I am still haunted by the same questions that I can never hope to answer. Could I have made a different decision and saved Prim? If I had saved her, would my best friend be beside me in this bed? Did my rash and regrettable choices really do that much harm? These are only questions I dare ask myself in the still of the night, after waking up from jumbled, frantic dreams that always end the same. The regret is always there, and yet, when I am rational in the light of day, I realize that the outcome of the decisions I alone made, would always be the same. Choices I made, weapons I designed, and the destinies that were cut short because of me would always hang over my head. In the end, I always wipe the sweat from my forehead and move on in my day. During the night, the fear and shame cripples me. Come morning, I put myself back together, make the bed, shower, and show up at the Central Office, grateful that my hands no longer have to be covered by mine dust and that we now exist in a government that doesn’t force young children to pay for the mistakes of a rebellion that was over long before they ever existed. And yet, one lingering question remains to me as I push myself from the bed, ready to begin my day.  The choices I made and forced upon countless innocent people - were those actions any better than the government I helped to destroy?

 

* * *

 

 

“Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne.” A polite voice with an accent I haven’t yet identified greets me like this every morning.

“Emma, how many times do I need to tell you, you can call me Gale?” I remember how to be polite and charming when the need suits me. Of course, this is spoken with a smile on my face. The fear and trauma that still lingers underneath the surface from the night now needs to be masked for the work day.

No matter how many times I tell my assistant to call me Gale, she unfailingly reverts to the more formal Mr. Hawthorne. She is a mystery, this Emma with no last name. I was asked to give her the job of being my assistant. And though she has been working with me for months now, I still know almost nothing about her other than how she drinks her coffee in the morning - two cups exactly with sugar, but no milk. She is always smartly dressed, with no stray hairs out of place and makeup done perfectly each morning. I know she excels at interpreting experimental weapons blueprints and that, even though she wears heels, she can keep up with me when we tour the factories together. I know the sandy blonde of her long, wavy hair most likely isn’t the real color and that her brown eyes are the product of contact lenses, rather than genetics. I have found that if you stand too close to her or come upon her suddenly, she startles easily.

I know she intrigues me. She has no last name and hasn’t been willing to provide one, at least not to me. She never speaks of her family or her past. And when she thinks I’m not listening, she hums the saddest songs. I’ve almost, but not quite, recognized a few. The names of the songs linger just out of reach in my memory. I’ve tried getting information from her. I’ve used humor and what I think are trick questions, and yet she never slips up and gives anything beyond what I already know about her.

“Mr. Hawthorne?” Her voice interrupts my wandering mind. “Are we finalizing this blueprint today and touring the factory again? You know they put us on a tight schedule for this new system.”

“Yeah,” I answer slowly, my mind coming back from thoughts of my mysterious assistant to the present task at hand. “Yeah, let’s get started. We need to deliver the finished system to Factory 3 today to begin production. I received a message yesterday, after you left for the evening, saying they’ve rushed everything. Though I haven’t a clue as to why. An upgraded inter-district communications surveillance system shouldn’t need to be rushed.There are plenty of other jobs that need to be finished before this one becomes necessary.”

Emma just rolls her eyes at me. She is well used to me speaking my thoughts out loud and pretending she’s not there. She pokes at my arm with the pencil she’s taken from behind her ear and smiles not unkindly, and I know what she’s about to say.

“Mr. Hawthorne, ours is not to question, but to do.” This is an oft repeated phrase between the two of us. She is well aware of my tendencies to question authority regarding our newly formed government. The fact that she takes it in stride and doesn’t take my musings too seriously makes me happy that she’s my assistant and not one of the other young, overly eager toadies that abound in this Central Office.

Even so, an uneasiness ripples across my mind with this newest task at hand. Why would our new government need to have access to high speed cross-country communications network surveillance? I think that this job will bear watching closely in the days and weeks to come.

“So,” I say to Emma, running my hands through hair that probably needs a trim. “Let’s get busy. These plans won’t finalize themselves, will they?”

She walks over to my desk and smiles down at me mischievously, knowing she’s just avoided a twenty minute, mostly nonsensical rant about the evils of secret government doings, and pats me on the shoulder, her hand lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

“Nope, Mr. Hawthorne, they sure won’t.”

As I lift my head to smile in return, I find myself a bit surprised to be wondering what color her eyes actually are underneath those thick, brown contact lenses. I shrug her hand off my shoulder rather more abruptly than I normally would have done, because this line of thinking is not something I want to ponder any further. She has touched me before,so I’m not sure why this time should be any different than her picking a stray hair from my shirt or leaning over me working on the numerous designs we’ve created together in the last six months. And yet, this time, it is different. And not a little bit unnerving.

My mind abruptly shifts gears to someone I know will never come back to me. She’s moved on and with Peeta now. Inside my head I know that, but how does the heart reconcile that a life-long friend, my best friend, is simply no longer there? It leaves a gaping hole that I’m not sure will ever be filled. I’m not sure I want it to be filled. It’s been a year since I’ve last seen her. Haymitch has purposely not spoken of her during his few visits to see me. I’m not sure if that’s to protect her or me. Either way, she’s moved on. And I need to look forward, not back.

Slightly softening my voice and purposefully not looking back up at now hurt filled eyes, I clear my throat and ask a question, “Emma, what time is the factory tour this afternoon again? Could you check for me, please?”

She straightens and, as I knew she would, shrugs off the awkward moment between us and returns to her own desk to look at her meticulously kept calendar. And I’m left with a cool breeze on my shoulder where her warm hand just was.


	2. Chapter 2

 

I am always amazed at the majesty that is District 2. Before it specialized in weaponry and electronics, it was known for its masonry. It’s a skill which shows in almost every single building we pass on the short walk from the office building to the factory. 

Marble is carved into delicate spirals to top even the most humble storefronts. It is juxtaposed against brick fronts that should cause it to look out of place, and somehow it doesn’t. Even though my home, my peace, will always be in the midst of a silent forest filled with towering trees whispering in the wind above me, I find this place grows on you after a while. It is stark, sterile, and beautiful in its own way.

“Woolgathering again, Mr. Hawthorne?” Emma interrupts my thoughts like that a lot. It’s like she knows that I’m not truly at home here in this new District. I’ve never stopped to think about the fact that she fits right in here. She fluidly adapted to every strange behavior and habit that District 2 has to afford. Its close proximity to the old Capital has lent it  some odd behaviors to someone used to the abject poverty and hardship of District 12.

Before the war, a pheasant or deer was a rare commodity, to be savored whenever my bow aim was true and someone else didn’t need the food more than my family. Now, fresh meat and vegetables are in abundance. For me, at least anyway. It is a luxury I am still accustoming myself with. The people here have never known a bone cold winter where the wind and snow whip through your threadbare jacket when you step outside for a moment. It shows in the children’s still chubby cheeks, their openness to new things and strangers, and in the items of clothing, while scarce to come by, are still the best quality. 

“You know it, Emma.” I smile directly at her and wink. 

The wink reminds me of who I used to be. Someone easier in his life. Someone, though burdened with hard work and hunger, who was more carefree in life. Less wise in the choices I made every single day. Life used to be wondering who was going hunting that day, her or me. It used to be finding new ways to elude Peacekeepers and sneak under the fence line towards freedom. It used to be the choice of putting my name in the pot in exchange for food for my family. Those were easy choices. Not the ones I’ve had to live with these last two years. Skepticism, after all that has happened to me, has planted its roots as deeply within me as the mine I grew up working in. Picking up my pace, I hurry on knowing we can’t be late to this appointment.           

“Come on, let’s get going, slowpoke!” I find myself grabbing her arm to propel her on. It’s not something I’ve ever done before - willingly touch her. I’ve kept my distance from almost every single person that is on my team. There are few I see on a daily basis and even fewer that I call friend. Those on my team are the only people I see these days anyway, and there is a purposeful distance between them and me. I think I startle her because she jumps a little before leaning into the hand I’ve placed on her arm. We walk into the factory building together, my hand still on her arm, a slight smile on her sunny face.         

**************************************************

 

Cries of my name greet me when we walk through the door of the largest electronics factory currently in District 2. It was one of the first things that was rebuilt after we bombed it in the last push to overtake The Capitol. Though the factory is quite large, there aren’t many workers here yet. Most of the native population that had lived here before were still, a year later, coming back around to the idea of making a living in this District. We’ve enticed a few to return, but not nearly enough to put things back together the way they should be. More than a few simply weren’t willing to put forth effort into anything resembling work, long used to having things handed to them on if not silver or gold, at least bronze platters from the Capital. 

Still, we managed to scrape together a few brave men and women who wanted a better way of living for their children and grandchildren. It was those few we put to work shoring up buildings, storefronts, and homes, amongst other jobs desperately needing attention in our new Panem. Signs of work are all around me as Emma and I head deeper into the building looking for the factory manager’s office door. It’s a maze in this place and she stays close by my side. 

For now, I’m ignoring the calls of my name knowing most likely it’s nothing important. My name is nothing I’m proud of at this moment anyway. They call it because they believe it can curry favor with the new regime in place. And with many sundry goods still hard to come by, favor can mean food on the table, heat for your house, or even newer shoes for your children. So, I continue to ignore them because I have no wish to use my ill-gained power to owe the Government any further favors. 

“Let’s go. There it is just ahead.” I say to Emma. To my surprise, she is still right beside me. I’ve finally spotted the door to the office. The factory manager is one of the few I call friend here and so I only slightly knock before entering. He’s expecting me and Emma. Despite our slow walk to the factory itself, we’re right on time. 

“President Paylor, Secretary Heavensbee,” My eyes widening at the visitors inside.  “It’s nice to see you both. I didn’t expect either of you here today with us.”  They both look a little bit older than when I last saw them. A year repairing what was a hugely flawed governmental system has to take its toll somehow. It shows in the worn, though still friendly, expressions on both their faces. 

“Gale,” Paylor starts, as she’s the one who knows me personally, “Good to see you too. Secretary Heavensbee and I are very pleased with the efforts of both you and your team on this project. We decided it would be best to approve the final plans in person.” She doesn’t quite meet my eye and it instantly sets my nerves on edge. Though she shakes my hand quite firmly and smiles, it feels false. I’ve learned to trust my instincts and when I look over to the Secretary, he’s not looking at me directly either. This definitely bears more thinking about on my own. As I look back at Emma, I realize maybe not on my own after all. She is hanging just at the edge of door. She’s never met the President before, or Secretary Heavensbee for that matter. There’s a slight frown on her face too, as if she realizes too that the President and Secretary’s smiles may not be so genuine. 

“Ma’am, Sir, may I introduce you to a vital member of my team of engineers? Her name is Emma and she was integral to us getting this project completed on time.” I beckon to Emma and push her in front of me to shake their hands. They are looking at her closely and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in introducing her. This is, after all, a girl with no last name and someone whose background I’ve never bothered to look into. Though hesitant, she shakes their hands and greets them with a shy smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Emma. Have we ever met before today? You have a look about you that’s familiar.” Paylor is holding onto her hand much longer than a simple handshake dictates and the nervous feeling in my stomach is back again. Emma looks exactly like a doe who’s caught the scent of a hunter. 

“Anyway,”  Paylor continues and finally releases Emma’s hand. She returns to her military straight posture,  wiping her hands against the severe black pencil skirt she’s wearing, “Nice to meet you. I look forward to working with both you and Gale in the future. Now, can we see those plans in your bag, Gale?”   With a new found reluctance on my part, I reach into my messenger bag and hand over the plans to Secretary Heavensbee. I step forward to explain the intricate details of our design.

 

**************************************************

 

“So as you can see, sir, our design incorporates everything we already knew about President Snow’s communication system, plus a few added upgrades that were requested, by you, I presume?”  I’m fishing for information at this point, and even though I know they will recognize this, I hope that they will still give me what I want. The specific upgrades they requested allow for much more access to the data being sent that I would have liked. And now knowing that both the President and Heavensbee themselves are interested in making sure this works, I’m wondering if it was a good idea to commit to saying this project could work in the first place.Why would a newly formed government, with freely elected people, have need of a communications system that basically spies on its people? Isn’t this what I fought to abolish? What I killed for? What I lost myself, and her, over? To be free from a leadership that didn’t allow this blatant disregard for the people it governed? So yes, I’m hoping that they’ll give me what I want so - well, I’m not sure what I’ll do with the information yet, but at least I’ll know. And in knowing, perhaps I can figure out the next step. 

“Yes, Gale, these were requested specifically by me. Myself, Secretary Heavensbee, and a few other members of my council were increasingly aware of a need for more control in what passes through communications channels within our country. Since we are such a  new government, we need to make sure our positions are cemented and therefore need a broader based way of capturing data that is being transmitted. I’m sure you understand? You, who fought so courageously to overthrow first Snow, then Coin?” Paylor is trying to sell me on her agenda, and I’m definitely not buying it. I look to Emma who is watching the President closely. Her eyes never waver and I’m struck by the same familiarity that Paylor professed just moments ago. Where have I seen Emma before? Perhaps this is a puzzle for another time, as my eyes shift back to Paylor who is, it seems, waiting for an answer from me. 

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, “absolutely. We wouldn’t want things being said about our government being anything like the old power we fought so hard to get rid of. Thank God that is gone forever. I hope that these plans go a long way in ferreting out any people who may want to end your leadership before it even really begins.” I hope my face is sincere enough and that any irony in my words is well hidden behind the mask. As I sneak a peek at Emma though, I know by her stern look at me that I haven’t fooled her at all. At least I’m not the only one who questions this new design. Maybe she questioned it all along and I’m the one just coming to wrongness of this project? Either way, I need to look into this further. I have a feeling I won’t be alone in my investigation.

  
  
  



End file.
